


the little things

by hajiiwa



Category: Haikyuu!!, Voltron: Legendary Defender, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Character Study, Drabble Collection, F/F, Final Haikyuu Quest, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, Smut, Writers Inktober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 16,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12250794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajiiwa/pseuds/hajiiwa
Summary: a collection of drabbles for writers' inktober. each chapter comes with any warnings and the character/ship featured. enjoy!EDIT: project dropped





	1. searching [IWAOI]

Something has changed.

Actually, no. Nothing has changed. There has been a shift in perspective, an insistent poking from a source he has never before considered. Iwaizumi notices it when he’s lying alone in bed, when he’s looking at old pictures of himself and Oikawa, when it hits him just how little time they have left. He feels the confusion churning in his chest when Oikawa’s shoulder bumps his own, when their eyes lock over the table or from across the room.

Iwaizumi’s always trying to find the words to describe what he feels. He can’t figure out how to phrase it– lost in thought as music plays in the background, Oikawa sitting three feet away, snacking on popcorn and sneering about something or other. It’s love, he knows, but it’s something  _more_ than that. An indescribable feeling, really, brought up by them growing up, moving on, soon to be continuing their lives apart from one another. The world feels so open, so promising, but Iwaizumi can’t put his finger on what to say, how to act.

Oikawa looks over at him. Iwaizumi coughs and sips his water, Hanamaki’s and Matsukawa’s sniping continuing in the foreground. Oikawa leans closer and Iwaizumi looks over, face darkening. “Can I help you?”

“What’s going on with you?” Oikawa asks, critical. “You’re so  _distant_ , Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, Iwa-chan,” echoes Hanamaki. “We go our separate ways in  _two weeks_ , don’t you want to spend time with your beloved friends?”

_I know. I know. Of course I do._ Iwaizumi just shrugs. “Got a lot on my mind.”

He receives no ‘ _that’s a first_ ’ from Oikawa. Matsukawa gives him a sidelong glance but Oikawa continues staring, trying to delve into his mind, as if he could sort through all the confusion and longing and find the answer to everything. Iwaizumi almost wishes he could.

“Just relax,” Hanamaki suggests, sliding on his sunglasses and noisily slurping his drink. “I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

_It will work out._  Perplexity fades with time, clarity arrives languidly. Iwaizumi closes his eyes, ignoring how Oikawa’s arm casually settles around his shoulder, a temporary relief to a problem that had been growing for too long.

“I know.”


	2. barefoot [IWAOI]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, i thought today was october first

“Iwa-chan, come dance with me!”

Music floats through the air. Iwaizumi glances up from his textbook to see Oikawa standing in the center of the room, feet bare and a huge grin on his face. “You’ve been working too long. Take a break.”

“You’re the last person to give me advice on that,” says Iwaizumi, sighing just a little and drawing his lips into a fine line. Oikawa just shakes his head and turns up the music, a light-hearted waltz that sounds vaguely familiar.

“Then I should know better than anyone.” He points to Iwaizumi’s feet. “Take those off.”

“What, my feet?”

Oikawa huffs. “ _No_ , you big tease, your shoes. And socks. Dancing barefoot is the most fun.”

Iwaizumi complies, albeit reluctantly. “And you know this how…?”

“Many hours spent alone,” answers Oikawa vaguely. “Don’t be like that, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi stands and takes Oikawa’s extended hand. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve never danced around in the middle of your room, when the house is quiet and you’re the only one awake, and–” He stops abruptly. Iwaizumi’s expression had apparently given something away. “You haven’t?”

Apparently not. He gives an embarrassed cough. “I’m… not much of a dancer,” he lies.

Oikawa gasps and drops his hand. “That matters not,” he declares, turning around and opening the blinds. It’s dark out; Iwaizumi can only see their own reflections, not the town sprawling beneath. “This has to be–” The windows are pushed open– “special.”

“Why?” Iwaizumi asks, watching as Oikawa opens up the room, shrugs off his jacket and turns the music up further. “What’s the point of–”

“You’ll see.” Oikawa skips the current track and takes both of Iwaizumi’s hands, grinning. “This is an epitome of  _youth_ , Iwa-chan, dancing with your lover with your shoes off and your hearts tender~”

“Since when have you been a poet?” retorts the elder, reddening slightly. “And please don’t call me your  _lover_.”

Oikawa just laughs, unworried and genuine. The next song starts up and slowly, they begin to move, one distinctly more graceful than the other.

“‘ _Not much of a dancer_ ’?” squawks Oikawa ten seconds in, who was already stumbling a little and looking rather flustered. Iwaizumi merely laughs and squeezes the hand Oikawa has in his own, toes sliding against the carpet as they spin slowly.

“I… my mom taught me how to waltz,” he says (admits, really, though it was hardly something to hide.) “She said that it showed class.”

Oikawa shakes his head. “You should have told me sooner,” he says. “We could have taken a dance class together.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Then I’m glad I spared myself.”

The song slows, approaching its end. Iwaizumi dips Oikawa and kisses him gently, their mouths curling into smiles, heartfelt and tender. They break away after a moment and Iwaizumi straightens, letting Oikawa’s arms slide around his neck.

“I love you,” murmurs his captain, their toes nudging as Oikawa shifts closer and kisses his forehead. Iwaizumi’s face burns and they kiss again, over and over, until each one is broken off with a fond little chuckle.

“I love you too, Tooru. Always.”


	3. warmth [BOKUROO]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a tiiiiiiiiiiiny bit of nsfw? idk it's fine :D

Bokuto is warm. **  
**

Kuroo notices this for the first time when their shoulders bump in the theater, both of them jumping at the scream a woman lets out, popcorn spilling over the edges of their shared container. Bokuto laughs nervously and Kuroo leans into him, pleasantly surprised at the warmth Bokuto was letting out. “A radiator,” he mutters, and Bokuto’s head swivels over.

“Hah?” he asks, perhaps a little too loud. He’s shushed almost immediately and Kuroo flaps a hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, chuckling softly. Bokuto just shrugs and sits forward, leaving Kuroo to stare at his back.

The second time he notices is after a practice match. Nekoma had pulled away for a narrow win and Bokuto tackles him with a hug, smiling wide. “Tetsu, nice! You beat me!”

Kuroo gives a slight scoff and brushes him away, face red. “Well, yeah. We do have a better record than you.”

Bokuto gasps and Akaashi gives a soft noise that could possibly be interpreted as a laugh. “Hey! Rude!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Kuroo slings an arm around his shoulders and grins, noticing the sweat clinging to Bokuto’s brow, the fit of his t-shirt. Kuroo glances away. “Who do you play next?”

“Um… Karasuno.” Bokuto continues talking but Kuroo stops listening, fingers pressing to Bokuto’s neck, eyes unfocused. Everything about him exuded warmth, confidence, a friendliness that had drawn Kuroo toward him all those years ago. It was that same feeling of comfort that caused Akaashi’s eyes to linger, Hinata’s nervous calls that sought praise, even drew sour Tsukishima’s attention–

All those people longing to be near to Bokuto and here Kuroo is, casually positioned by his side, without a second thought or a doubt. Bokuto’s still talking and Kuroo hesitates for a split second before he leans in, presses his lips to Bokuto’s cheek, feeling the other boy tense and watching him blush. “Wha– er, Tetsu, what–”

“Just– felt right.” Kuroo grins, huge and genuine, feeling himself blush up to the tips of his ears. “I’m sure you’ll beat us next time.”

Bokuto blinks a few times, then matches Kuroo’s expression with a radiating smile of his own. “Hell yeah I will!” he crows, smushing his lips against Kuroo’s cheek before smacking his shoulder and bounding off to catch up with his team.

Fukurodani takes the match 2-0.

The next time Kuroo experiences that warmth is, oddly enough, when he’s shivering. He’s far from cold as Bokuto leans in and kisses his nose, brief and sweet, fingers slipping down his stomach and between his thighs. Kuroo swallows hard and twitches a little as Bokuto shifts, planting his knees on either side of Kuroo’s hips and giving the ravenet a nervous glance. “This okay?”

“It’s fine,” answers Kuroo immediately, hands sliding up Bokuto’s chest. He’s a furnace, as always– Kuroo’s skin prickles as hips grind down against his own and he yanks Bokuto down, kissing him fiercely and missing the mark by a tick, laughing as they adjust.

“Are you sure?” asks Bokuto once they’re broken apart, capturing Kuroo’s hands. “You’re shaking.”

Kuroo reddens. “I’m excited, fuck you,” he defends, huffing indignantly. Bokuto just laughs and leans down, kisses him over and over, until Kuroo’s putty in his hands.

***

After that, Kuroo’s next experience with Bokuto’s contagious warmth is not a happy occasion. He stares at the scoreboard with disbelief in his eyes, a cold numbness spreading from the center of his chest as he balls his hands into fists.

_We lost._

Fukurodani’s celebration is sickeningly joyous. They were going to nationals, after all. Rationally, Kuroo knew they still had a chance, but what if they lost again? What if they weren’t strong enough to beat the next team? What if, what if,  _what if_ –

“Kuroo.” Kenma’s voice jolts him back to reality and Kuroo swallows, his mouth dry as he glances over to watch Bokuto and Akaashi hug, hard and fast, both of them on top of the world. He looks away. “We have to–”

“I know.” Kuroo doesn’t mean to cut him off but just strides past Kenma to form a line, blinking hard, his teeth gritted. They bow, they take the loss gracefully, since this doesn’t mean they’ve lost their chance.

Kuroo only  _has_ one more chance, though.

He’s a little subdued as he helps clean up. This might not be it, but  _god_ , it still stung. Bokuto still hasn’t looked over, Kuroo knows, since he’s swept up in celebration.

That’s fine. He deserved the win.

Kuroo tries to slip away unnoticed, but of course, that doesn’t work. Bokuto jogs over and snags his sleeve, face flushed and dimples showing around his huge grin. “Hey, Tetsu, where you goin’?”

“Shower.” Kuroo shrugs him off, smiling quickly, tightly. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Bokuto falters. Kuroo attempts to slink off but Bokuto grabs him again, pulls him in close. “You were really good out there,” he says, strong arms caging Kuroo in. The taller captain just sinks into him and says nothing, eyes squeezed shut, a lump growing in his throat.

Bokuto pulls away after a long moment. He cups Kuroo’s cheeks in his hands and smiles, unwaveringly supportive. “You’ll beat the next team, Tetsu. Don’t worry.”

Kuroo scoffs, ugly and quiet. “You can’t pr–”

“I can too promise that.” Bokuto’s voice is more serious than Kuroo has ever heard it before. “You’re going to win, Tetsu, I swear. And I’m gonna see you kicking ass at nationals, okay?”

A short pause, a slight sniffle, then a resounding nod. “Yeah,” says Kuroo, swallowing. “You will.”

***

Bokuto watches his next match.

He watches Nohebi get taken down, watches Kuroo pump his fist and grin and give Daishou a confident sneer, watches his confidence come back in full swing. He watches Kuroo’s face light up as Bokuto skitters onto the court and tackles him into a hug, showers him in praise, murmurs over and over  _I told you so._

Kuroo’s cheeks are hot in his hands, flushed with pride, his eyes shining behind the layer of exhaustion that had been painted on. Bokuto kisses him, quickly and secretly, too overjoyed to resist. “I fucking  _told_ you, didn’t I?” he asks, gleeful.

“You really fucking did,” breathes Kuroo, hugging Bokuto tight to his chest.

This feels  _right_ , thinks Bokuto, going by the inky warmth in his gut.

This is right.


	4. compliment [IWAOI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is for frenchibi.

There’s something missing, Hajime realizes. In his relationship with Tooru.

On the surface, they’re a picturesque relationship. Childhood friends with a playful dynamic and obvious chemistry, an apparent fondness for one another that ran deep. It’s not perfect, of course, since perfection in a relationship isn’t something one should strive for. And it’s such a small thing that Hajime notices they’re lacking, but the more time that passes, the more distraught he grows.

They’re sitting on a grassy field one Saturday afternoon. Issei and Takahiro squirt water guns at one another a ways off while Hajime and Tooru sit on a checkered blanket, stretched out under the sun, munching on watermelon slices and cherries. Tooru seems content, but Hajime is far from it himself. He takes a halting breath and glances over.

“Why do you never compliment me?” he asks. Tooru looks over, frowning.

“I– what?” His confusion is evident. “Of course I compliment you.”

Hajime purses his lips. “You do… on the court,” he says slowly, glancing away from him. “‘Nice spike’ and all that. But it’s always…  _I’m_ always the one called out for being rude, when you’re still calling me a brute and all that.”

Tooru pauses, remembering what Hajime had been mulling over for weeks– since the start of their relationship, the occurance of ‘Shittykawa’s and ‘Crappykawa’s has gone down exponentially. Hajime’s the kinder one, calling his boyfriend  _darling_ and  _baby_ , but the nicknames are one-way. Tooru’s continued to call him mean, crude, thoughtless.

“I–” For once, Tooru’s speechless. “… I compliment you.”

“No, you don’t.” Hajime’s brow furrows. “Which– you know. Whatever. But still, I…”

He stops. Tooru sits up. “Tell me.”

Hajime stays silent for a moment. “Are you with me out of obligation?”

Tooru sputters, as if it were the most ridiculous accusation in the world, but it just makes Hajime grimace. “Wha– of course not, silly Iwa-chan!”

A half-hearted glare. Tooru blinks. “I’m… not,” he repeats, voice softer. “What makes you think that?”

Hajime shrugs. “You only appreciate me on the court,” he says nonchalantly, though it sounds bitter and self-pitying even to himself. “You… act like I’m not pleasant to be around.”

Silence stretches on between them. “Stupid, I know,” mutters Hajime, already feeling guilt and regret start to pile up in his throat. “Forget I said anything.”

“I had no idea you…” Tooru swallows audibly and Hajime looks over– he’s got his legs drawn up and his eyes are a little glossy. “I’m sorry, Hajime.”

Now confused, Hajime blinks. “I, uh… What?”

Tooru sniffs. “You know I love you, right?”

“No.” Iwaizumi talks without speaking. Takahiro shrieks from somewhere behind them. “I… don’t really know that.”

And god, the  _look_ he gets. Tooru’s face twists and it gives away his shock, his wild disbelief. He reaches out and cups Hajime’s cheeks, eyes serious and searching, jaw tight. “ _I love you_.”

Hajime looks away. “… thanks.”

Tooru forces their eyes to meet again. “I don’t compliment you off-court because–” His throat pulses around a swallow. “You never believe me.”

 _Oh_. “What?”

“I tell you you’re handsome and you tell me I’m more so.” Tooru takes a deep breath. “I tell you you’re smart and you tell me you’re not as smart as me. I tell you you’re strong and you tell me that Ushiwaka is stronger, that you w… weren’t strong enough. Haven’t been in the past, and won’t be in the future.”

Hajime had remembered saying those things, but he hadn’t  _meant_ them, not like that. Right? “No, that’s just…”

“Every time I’ve tried to tell you, you haven’t just said… ‘Thank you’.” Tooru drops his hands and shakes his head. “You never believe me,  _you_ only ever believe me when we’re on the court because you’re with–”

“The team,” Hajime guesses, but Tooru shakes his head.

“With me,” he says, and even Hajime can sense the self-loathing in his voice. “You think you’re strong… only then.”

Hajime blinks quickly. That can’t be true. “No, I… I feel strong when Yahaba sets to me.”

_But I feel strongest when I’m with you._

_I feel strong_ because  _of you._

Hajime covers his mouth with a hand. “… oh.”

“Yeah.” Tooru bites his lip. “I keep trying to tell you, but…”

Oh.

_Fuck._

“You need to realize how wonderful you are just by yourself,” says Tooru after a long stretch of silence. He looks over and Hajime looks back, doubtful, eyes wide. Tooru shifts closer.

“How strong,” he continues, resting a hand on Hajime’s arm and kissing his shoulder, “and handsome, my dependable pillar.”

Hajime goes to say something but Tooru shushes him. “You might not be a genius like me,” he says with a slightly mischievous smile, “but you’re way smarter than so many people I know. You always know how to catch me right before I fall over the edge, right before I go too far.” He leans in and kisses Hajime’s cheek. “You’re  _amazing_.”

Hajime’s face is burning, but Tooru isn’t done quite yet. He swings a leg over Hajime’s and sits back onto his knees, continuing to kiss his nose, forehead, cheeks. “You’re my sturdy ace and my irreplaceable best friend.” Their foreheads knock together. “And I love you  _so much_.”

“I–” Hajime’s words cut off and he blinks quickly, opting to just wrap his arms around Tooru and hug him tightly. Tooru’s fingers slide through his hair and Hajime gives a shaky sigh, putting all his willpower into not crying. “I didn’t know that I was…”

“I did,” says Tooru simply, voice quiet and soft near his ear. “And it’s okay, Hajime, because now you do. And now you can  _believe_ me when I say that you’re incredible.”

Hajime gulps and pulls away a little, staring up at Tooru, who’s looking at him with fierce pride. “I don’t deserve you,” he says weakly, already feeling like his chest was a little lighter. Tooru just smiles.

“Yeah,” he says, “you do.”


	5. fallen [IWAOI-ish]

Oikawa Tooru is proud to a fault.

His pride stops him from asking for help, admitting that he needs it at all– stops him from owning up to mistakes, to character flaws, to  _anything_ that cuts him down to less than he believes himself to be. It’s debilitating, really, and it’s at its worse when his injury hits.

Damn it, Oikawa does not  _need this_. He needs more training, not x-rays and knee supporters and worried relatives. He  _certainly_ doesn’t need his parents forcing him to train less, to rest.

Can’t they see?

That he needs to get  _better_?

Oikawa’s pride, however, slips away late at night. It’s least prevalent when he’s curled up on the floor, staring at the ceiling and thinking of the  _what if_ s, all the screwed-up parts of his life that accumulate and make him start to sob. Oikawa’s pride urges him to push away the help of his teammates and best friends, and because of this, he doesn’t expect anyone to be there when he falls.

It happens unexpectedly. He just grips onto his water glass and gives a hitching sob, one that makes Iwaizumi look over, startled and concerned. “ _O-Oikawa_ –?”

“ _Can’t do this_ ,” gasps Oikawa, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, “ _I c-can’t– it’s hopeless, Iwa-chan, it’s over_ –”

Pride stops getting in the way. It’s Oikawa, genuine, who breaks down and admits that he needs to go back to therapy. It’s just Oikawa who flings his arms around Iwaizumi and hugs him tight, desperate and longing, unwilling to let go. It’s Oikawa who picks himself back up, piece by piece, sewing himself back together and facing the world with hurt-hardened eyes and a fierce expression.

It’s his pride that brings him crashing to his knees, but it’s his pride that lifts him back up again. This time, though, Oikawa’s got one hand tight in Iwaizumi’s. He’s not  _alone_ , he finally realizes, and he’s going to be just fine. He’ll fall, but then he’ll get back up and dust himself off and _keep on living_.

Because he’s Oikawa  _fucking_ Tooru, and he refuses to stay down for long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *uploads a day late holding orange juice* whaddup


	6. water [MATSUHANA]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this doesn't reeeally have a whole lot of plot but it's sweet ok

Takahiro lifts a hand, watching the sudsy water slide down his forearm and nestle into the crook of his elbow. He bends his back and peers out the small window that overlooks the driveway, bored and impatient.

He sinks further down into the water and closes his eyes, bubbles clinging to his skin and steam furling up from the tub. Issei had been gone for two months on a semester abroad and Takahiro, missing him immensely, spends most of his time at home in the bathtub.

Issei wasn’t expected to return for another three days, but Takahiro’s eyes snap open at the sound of a door slamming somewhere far below. He twists and ignores the sloshing of water as he squints through the window again, heart leaping into his throat when he sees a familiar, lean figure stepping out of a taxi cab.

 _Issei_.

Slipping, Takahiro stands and fumbles around for a towel, his face flushed pink with bubbly excitement. Weeks away from his best friend and lover had made him restless but now Issei was  _here_ , and Takahiro watches him jam a key into the lock, no doubt to head to the staircase and make his way up to apartment 3-C.

Takahiro curses as he rubs his hair frantically and doesn’t even bother with clothes, wrapping a towel around his midsection as wet feet slip along wooden floors. He yanks open the door just before Issei can slide his key into the lock. His face splits into a grin. “ _Iss_ –”

He’s interrupted by Issei’s arms around him, strong and tight, caging him in without a care for the water dripping down Takahiro’s torso. They kiss once, twice, until Hanamaki’s got laughter bubbling up in his throat and his fists clench in Issei’s jacket. “You’re  _early_ ,” he breathes, overjoyed. Issei just grins.

“I did everything as quick as I could,” he says, pushing the door shut and cupping one of Takahiro’s vaguely soapy cheeks. “England was fun but I fucking  _missed_ you.”

Takahiro sniffles. “You’ve been in a foreign country,” he mumbles, heart still in his throat as he runs his hands up and down Issei’s chest. “I’ve just been drowning in homework, alone, in this tiny-ass apartment.”

Issei leans in and kisses him, hard. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding convincing in the slightest. Takahiro pushes off Issei’s satchel and shivers a little, goosebumps rising on his exposed skin.

“You’re here now,” Takahiro says, hugging him tightly and squeezing his eyes shut. “Handsome fucker, don’t leave me for that long again.”

“I love you too,” Issei answers, holding Takahiro close as water soaks through his shirt. “And I promise, darling, I  _never_ will.” 


	7. confusion [BOKUROO]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, pain

“I can’t. I can’t do this.”

The words stick in Kuroo’s throat and he grimaces, shoving it them down with a swallow, unable to meet Bokuto’s huge gaze.

“This?” ventures the other, tentative.

A shaky breath. “Us,” says Kuroo, waving a couple of fingers. “I can’t do…  _us_. Not anymore.”

Bokuto’s lip wobbles almost comically. Kuroo stares at the space over Bokuto’s shoulder. “Wh… why?”

They’re sat in Bokuto’s living room and for a while, the only sounds are the ticking from the huge clock to his right. Kuroo twists his hands. “We’re going to different universities.”

“So?” Bokuto’s comeback is instantaneous. “It’s only a thirty-minute train ride from yours.”

“You’re joining a team that has a high turnover rate to the national team.”

“A-and you’re studying super hard math stuff!” Bokuto’s voice raises in pitch. “You’re also-- I don’t want--”

“I would just hold you back.” Kuroo’s words, sharp and bitter, pierce through Bokuto’s. He gives a shaky sigh. “And I can’t-- I just  _can’t_.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows are knitted together in perplexity. “You don’t,” he says, knees starting to bounce under the coffee table, a nervous habit that Kuroo hates seeing. “It-- we could make it work, Tetsu! We can!”

Kuroo had gone with him a couple of weeks prior to tour Bokuto’s campus and Bokuto had drawn people to him like moths to a flame, greeting them all with anxious grins and bright expressions. Kuroo had watched as Bokuto walks ahead and chats easily with nearly everyone he comes across, completely at ease when surrounded by strangers, always entertaining and inspiring everyone around him. Bokuto hadn’t picked up on the flirting, but Kuroo had. He hadn’t noticed  _anything_ , but Kuroo had figured it out. He didn’t belong, not there, not in Bokuto’s world. At least, not any more.

“We can’t.” Kuroo stands and grabs his backpack, gripping the strap tersely. “And I think we should stop this before…”

Well. Before either of them fell in love, though Kuroo knew it was too late for that. Bokuto stands too.

“Don’t do this,” he says, voice quiet and pleading. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this!”

Kuroo’s resolve weakens and he sniffs, looking away. “Koutarou, you-- you’re phenomenal. You’ll land on your feet, you’ll find someone else. People  _love_ you--”

“Not everyone!” Bokuto interrupts. “Not everyone can h-handle my mood swings, only you ‘n… and Akaashi, but he--”

“He rejected you.” Kuroo’s tone is sickeningly self-pitying. “I was your backup.”

Bokuto’s eyes grow huge. “That’s… that’s not true.”

“It is.” Kuroo smiles tightly. “But you know what? I don’t care.” _I do_. “You’ll find someone else who’s amazing and talented and you’re gonna be amazing. So I’m just gonna take myself out of the equation before you take me out of it yourself.”  _You’re not good enough for him. You never have been._

God _damn_  it, he’s not gonna cry. Bokuto looks like a kicked puppy as he sniffles and shakes his head. “I won’t, I wouldn’t, I  _love you_ \--”

“No, you don’t.” _Yes, he does._

_You just don’t want to get hurt._

_You’re just_  afraid.

Kuroo takes a deep breath and slips on his backpack, walking over and gripping the doorknob. “I’ll see you around,” he says dully, opening the door and stepping out. He closes it with a click and blinks hard, eyes stinging, his heart aching, begging him to go back and apologize until his voice stopped breaking and not let Bokuto go.

He doesn’t. Kuroo wipes away the tear that had fallen onto his cheek and walks away.


	8. impasse [RANPOE]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something that is not!! haikyuu!!!! wooooow

Poe had made a mistake.

Actually, Poe had made several mistakes, each one leading up to the culminating mistake that led to Ranpo sitting across the room from him with his arms tightly folded and his expression sour. Poe himself was also rather miserable, with his eyes downcast and his hands twisting in his lap.

_“So you’ve taken a fondness to Ranpo-kun, eh?”_

_Startled, Poe looks up. Yosano stands in front of him wearing a knowing grin. “U-um… yes, I have.”_

_The doctor sighs. “You know, I think it’s sort of admirable,” she admits, “but you don’t have to keep feeding into his delusion.”_

_Poe blinks. “What delusion?”_

_Yosano’s eyebrows twitch. “You mean you don’t know?”_

“Oi.” Poe jumps as Ranpo stands, mouth still twisted into a displeased frown. “If you’re not going to apologize for lying, then I’m leaving.”

“I wasn’t lying,” says Poe, voice rather dulled. “I thought you had… figured it out.”

_“I… don’t,” Poe says nervously, glancing over at the detective. He sits with his hat pulled down over his eyes, probably asleep. Atsushi tiptoes past him. “What are you talking about?”_

_Yosano purses her lips. “He’s not gifted.”_

_Poe visibly twitches in shock. “Wh-what?”_

“Yes, you were,” Ranpo argues childishly. “I don’t know why you’re not bothering to admit that.”

“I  _wasn’t_ ,” insists Poe, his heart starting to beat frantically. “I– I thought you had some idea that you weren’t g–”

“I  _am_ gifted,” seethes Ranpo, cutting him off. His slitted green eyes are fully open and glaring at Poe, unrelenting and firm in his resolve. “Not being gifted means that I’ve been lied to for years and I refuse to accept that. Therefore I am gifted.”

_“Yeah.” Yosano sighs. “So far, he hasn’t believed anyone that’s tried to tell him. It’s a really sensitive topic, and if you actually love him, I recommend not bringing it up.”_

_Poe flushes. “I’m– it’s not like that.”_

_“Yes, it is.” Yosano smiles teasingly. “And I’m pretty sure it’s mutual. He doesn’t compliment many people but he’s always complimented you. Plus, he kisses you in public. If our shoulders brush he complains that he needs to take a shower.”_

Poe falls silent. He hadn’t  _meant_ to say it, but he’d gotten so nervous, so eager to please.

_“You’re incredible, Ranpo-kun,” Poe had breathed, watching Ranpo’s miniscule shiver. “You’re– you’re so amazing. I really can’t believe it.”_

_Yosano had tipped him off to the fact that Ranpo reacted well to praise, and it was certainly paying off. Ranpo’s cold fingers press to Poe’s neck as he leans in and they kiss, quick and chaste, over and over until they’re both unconsciously pressing close. Poe pulls away for air and Ranpo immediately dives in, kissing down his throat until Poe’s gasping and trembling under the long-desired touch._

_“Yes– ah– please,” Poe breathes, his chest now heaving, clutching tight to Ranpo and swallowing down his nerves. Ranpo just grins._

“You had always gone on about how amazing my ability was,” says Ranpo, his jaw visibly clenched. “But you suddenly changed your mind? Why?”

Poe swallows and Ranpo sneers, an ugly expression on his face. “Who told you such lies?”

“They aren’t lies,” Poe responds, though he’s starting to doubt his own words. Had Yosano led him on?

_Poe watches through heavy lids as Ranpo rolls off of him, collapsing against the mattress, hair a mess and face red. Poe shifts, grimacing at the stiffness in his hips as he presses his nose into Ranpo’s shoulder and shivers a little. “You’re… how are you good at everything?” he asks weakly._

_Ranpo snorts, short and content, his eyelashes fluttering contently. “Mmm. I just am.”_

_Warmth spreads through Poe’s chest as he snuggles into Ranpo’s side, his entire body aching but his mind completely at ease. “I love you,” he whispers, feeling Ranpo stiffen in surprise. Poe lifts his head._

_“Don’t… be mad,” he says, suddenly nervous. Ranpo just blinks._

_“You do?”_

_“Y-yeah.” Poe swallows and shyly ducks his head, cheeks burning. “Your eyes, your… your voice, your mind. All of you, you’re just… even without a gift, you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”_

_Ranpo doesn’t say anything, and Poe realizes his mistake too late. He looks up to see Ranpo staring at him, completely unmoving, lips drawn into a tight line._

_“Excuse me?”_

“No one told me anything,” continues Poe, staring at the floor and twisting his fingers. “I-it wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t something you would have thought of on your own,” Ranpo argues, arrogant voice steamrolling Poe’s. It’s bitter, Poe can tell, but it’s also hurt, soaked in denial. “Someone told you. Someone who–”

He halts. “It was Yosano.”

Poe’s stomach flips. “Wh– n-no, it wasn’t any–”

“Yes, it was.” Ranpo blinks quickly. “It was her. She’s tried to convince me of that bullshit before.”

They both fall silent. Ranpo’s turned away from him and Poe can see that his head is bent, his hands are shaking. It breaks his heart just a little more. “R-Ranpo,  _please_ …”

Ranpo yanks his hat down further. “I have to go.”

Poe jumps up a tad too quickly, wincing at the very prominent pain in his lower back that had been caused not even an hour prior. “No! No, Ranpo, please–”

“You lied to me.” Ranpo jams his hands into his pockets, staring at the door, voice oddly serious. “And if you’re actually telling the truth, so has everyone else.”

Tears flood Poe’s eyes and he wipes them away impatiently. “You can… you can get past this, Ranpo, I know you can. Even though you don’t have a gift, you’re still so smart, a-and respected, and–”

“Just stop,” Ranpo snaps, shoulders tensing. He stalks forward and yanks open the door to the spare room by accident, admitting a sour Karl into the living room. He cusses and walks over to the front door, Poe getting a glimpse of his face, red with shame and humiliation. He opens it before turning, eyes burning with a hatred Poe has never before seen from him.

“You’re pathetic,” he says, but his voice is nowhere near as strong as it had been. It’s shaky, and underneath the fury in his eyes Poe can tell he’s fighting back tears. “And even if I have a gift, then you’re _still lying_ , and it wouldn’t matter because– because I–”

He just shakes his head jerkily, turning on his heel and walking out. The door slams and Poe flinches away from it, lip trembling, hair falling into his face.

The only person he’d ever loved had just walked out on him. Poe bobs his head in horrified disbelief and tries to replay in his head what he could have done differently, what they could be doing if he had just kept his mouth  _shut_. Ranpo wouldn’t have walked out in disgrace; he would have still been here, Poe’s first and  _only_.

But he wasn’t here. Ranpo was gone and Poe just sinks to the floor, cradling his head in his hands as he starts to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls help how is the characterization in this one


	9. strings [BOKUROO-ish]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one has some depictions of violence, some referenced nsfw (also referenced bokuaka lol), in general it's a bit heavy? not terribly so tho (^-^)b

There’s a steady _click, click, click_  of heels against the marble floors. Tentative eyes flicker up to watch the figure that strides past, cloak billowing out around him, golden eyes glinting with a foreign intelligence that chills the lesser beings in the room to the bone. Kuroo Tetsurou looks at one of them, smirking cruelly, taking a sort of twisted pride in the fact that his eyes alone makes the servant shrink back in fear and awe. **  
**

He is the puppetmaster of this estate. He’s been in command for hundreds of years, and nothing can displace him.

Kuroo continues walking, face falling back into a contemplative frown as he ascends the swirling staircase. There has been a new face around lately– a human, one that would no doubt soon be used for blood, not just to scrub the floors. His skin shines dark from hours under the sun, and something about him, be it the wild hair or the keen eyes, puts Kuroo off. So far he has shown no signs of resistance, but only time would tell what was to become of that.

He sees the human, Bokuto, at the end of the hall. He’s staring at something Kuroo can’t see and the vampire tilts his head, mildly curious. He clears his throat but the other figure doesn’t move. Kuroo strides forward, poking Bokuto’s shoulder with one long, black nail. He remains motionless.

Now equal parts interested in this new development and annoyed that he was being ignored, Kuroo grips his shoulder and whirls him around. Almost immediately Bokuto collapses forward with a sickly groan and Kuroo’s forced to catch him, supporting the human’s weight effortlessly, his eyes growing wide. Bokuto’s face is drained of all color and his eyelids are drooping, marks of all sorts littering his throat and neck. Kuroo’s lip curls a little as he notices some of the bruises scattered along his skin, but settles into a sort of displeased resignation as he sees two neat puncture wounds.

Yes, he’s familiar with those marks; indicative of a vampire bite.

Kuroo is  _furious_ , but now is not the time. From what he has seen Bokuto is at least physically capable, which could lead to him being a halfway decent subordinate to Kuroo himself. Bokuto is still breathing, though he wouldn’t be for long. Kuroo wraps his thin fingers around Bokuto’s neck and pulls him along, commandeering but still oddly careful.

***

When Bokuto awakes, groggy and pained, the first thing he notices is that his heart isn’t beating.

That had been something he had always sought for as a child, something he would search for when he longed for a steady reassurance of his life. He gives a strangled cry, a hand flying to his neck, clouded eyes flicking around nervously.

The figure shrouded in black lifts its head. Bokuto immediately cringes away upon seeing the powerful monster before him, all sharp lines and dark tones. His stomach twists as his fingers scrape along his skin in search of a pulse.

“It’s about time.” Kuroo stands and walks over, fingers sliding up the bed Bokuto was laid upon, his eyes seeming to glow in the dim light. “How are you feeling?”

Unable to focus on anything other than his lack of pulse, Bokuto shakes his head wildly. “I don’t– I don’t feel–”

“No, you don’t.” Kuroo smiles thinly and Bokuto shudders. “What do you remember?”

A couple of rapid blinks. “R-remember…?”

“Before you woke up,” supplies the other, putting a hand under Bokuto’s chin and guiding his head up. Their eyes lock and Bokuto goes stiff, goosebumps running all over his skin.

“I don’t…” He swallows, feeling Kuroo’s eyes still on him, imposing and a little impatient. “I was…”

“You were turned,” says Kuroo, unimpressed with his lack of memory. He drops his hands and begins to walk, slow and deliberate. “I’m guessing you had sex with one of my kin and allowed them to turn you.”

Bokuto flinches. “N-no, that can’t be it.”

Kuroo smiles. “It is.”

Silence stretches between them, deafeningly fragile. “What am I going to do?” whispers Bokuto, clenching the sheets in fear. Kuroo looks up, into a mirror placed tauntingly on the opposite wall.

“You are going to tell me who did this to you,” says Kuroo, voice soft and deadly, “and then you are going to kill them.”

***

Slowly, Bokuto begins to remember. It was a vampire with as much striking beauty as Kuroo, with pale eyes and hair darker than the shadows that now swim on the edges of Bokuto’s vision. He remembers the infatuation that had overtaken him, he remembers the feeling of this vampire’s body moving along his own, around him, he remembers the feeling of fangs that had pierced his skin and how he had felt his own pulse flutter weakly.

He stares at the vampire,  _Akaashi_ , who looks back at him with emotionless eyes. Kuroo watches him too, as he picks up the thin silver blade, as Bokuto twists it in his hands. The grandfather clock ticks ominously as he drops it, stepping back, shaking his head. “No, no, I can’t…”

Kuroo sighs, disappointed. Bokuto cringes at his disapproval, hadn’t even realized that he was craving it. “Come,” says Kuroo, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bokuto relaxes just a little.

***

Akaashi is decapitated outside the manor. His blood paints Bokuto’s skin, stains his hair. Far above him the stars twinkle tauntingly and Kuroo puts a hand to his shoulder once again, controlling him without words or actions, and Bokuto doesn’t even care. He leans into the older vampire and takes a shaky breath, feeling fingers card through his hair.

“You will live forever,” whispers Kuroo, voice rich with promise, Bokuto unable to see the slow smile stretching over his lips. “Do you want that?”

“I want that,” answers Bokuto, staring at his bloodied hands. What else is there? Surely he wouldn’t have survived the process if it weren’t for Kuroo.

Kuroo kisses his temple and stands, Bokuto following without a thought, pulled along by Kuroo’s strings. “I know.”


	10. honor [IWAOI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was also used to fulfill an asked prompt on my tumblr!!

“You don’t have to do this,” whispers the king in a voice no soldier should ever have to hear.

Iwaizumi Hajime turns and swallows, adjusting a strap on his armor, trying to still his frantic heartbeat. “You know I do.”

The king shakes his head and strides forward, cupping both of Iwaizumi’s cheeks, hands a little clammy. “I can pull you out of this,” says Oikawa, “I can– I can keep you safe.”

Iwaizumi reaches up and holds one of Oikawa’s hands– clutches it, really– lowering it as he lowers his own and gives a resigned sigh. “That’s not how it works. I’m a  _general_ , I’m an important figure in this war. I can’t just bow out.”

The corner of Oikawa’s mouth twitches. “How humble,” he says, a lame attempt at humor. Iwaizumi looks away.

“I’m sorry,” mutters Iwaizumi, stomach writhing. “But I promise I’ll come back.”

A wry smile. “You can’t promise such a thing,” Oikawa says, one of his hands sliding up to brace against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. He leans in before the soldier was given a chance to protest and kisses him, quick and gentle. “But I’ll hold you to it anyway.”

Iwaizumi’s gut flips. He grips onto Oikawa’s hand and surges forward, wrapping an arm around the taller’s neck and kissing him, hard and desperate and longing. Oikawa stumbles backward a little but there’s no hesitation in his movements as he grips Iwaizumi tightly, almost  _too_ tightly, the air being squeezed from Iwaizumi’s lungs.

They break apart. Iwaizumi’s breathing heavily as he pushes his forehead against Oikawa’s, searching for something real, something concrete he can hold onto. “I’ll make you proud,” he says, voice hardly above a cracked whisper. “I’ll bring honor to you, Tooru, to our country–”

“Honor is bullshit if it ends up with your own life being lost,” hisses Oikawa, teeth gritted. Voices echo down the hallway and Iwaizumi reluctantly steps back, watching a few other soldiers skitter nervously into the armory. They fall into deep bows but Oikawa just grabs his arm and drags him into a different room, one hidden from the sight of others. “Be  _safe_ , Hajime, please.”

Iwaizumi swallows. He has to leave, they both know, they can’t put this off any longer. He leans in and kisses Oikawa, the embrace lingering on their lips with a feeling of finality.

“I will,” he says, voice thick with promise. “I will.”


	11. seasons [BOKUROO]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is also to fulfill a prompt!! "i was hoping you'd fall in love with me", smth like that~~

They’re not really  _ dates _ , per se, though Bokuto wouldn’t complain if they were. They’re just excursions between friends– the movies, then the beach, ending with a nice dinner and possibly a night over. Bokuto would wake up the morning after his carefully planned days out and just look at him, letting his eyes wander over Kuroo’s expression lax with sleep, eventually having to force his eyes away when Kuroo shifts or mumbles something. His heart was always pounding and he always had to bury his face into a pillow, stomach twisting with nervous excitement.   
  


_ Fuck _ . He knows this is more than just a simple crush.   
  


Of course, what they do varies depending on the season. The warmer months were filled with trips to the ocean or strolls through the city, but when the skies grew grey and the wind picked up Bokuto opted for movie after movie snuggled under a blanket or a long drive into the countryside. Once– just once– his fingers had brushed Kuroo’s under a thick comforter and he hadn’t pulled  _ away _ ; Kuroo’s fingers had slid between his own and they just sat, hands half-held in one another’s.    
  


Bokuto was pretty sure his blush had spread down to his toes.   
  


Now, however, it was different. They were out on the road, with Kuroo driving his beat-up, hand-me-down car along a street that wound through the hills. The sun was setting off behind them as Bokuto reclines his seat a little, looking up at the sky with a smile on his face. He catches Kuroo’s eyes at one point and smiles wider. “Where are we going?”   
  


“You’ll see,” Kuroo assures, just humming softly. Bokuto shrugs.   
  


The road continues to wind its mysterious way up one of the taller hills, until it has Bokuto sitting up curiously. The sun’s rays have bled beneath the horizon by the time they pull to a stop.    
  


Kuroo opens the door. “Well? C’mon.”   
  


It’s a picturesque view– they’d pulled into the center of a large, grassy field, one located near the top of the rolling hill. Glittering far off in the distance are Tokyo’s city limits, but to Bokuto, that felt like a world away. The wind whips at his clothes up here so he zips up his jacket and just grins, a gloved hand catching on a branch as he leans out. “ _ Wow _ .”   
  


“Yeah,” whispers Kuroo, leaning against the tree and chuckling a little. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”   
  


Bokuto beams and looks over at him. “I’m glad you’re finally making an effort.”   
  


Shocked, Kuroo puts a hand to his chest. “Excuse you, I executed that trip to the roller rink.”   
  


“Yeah, like a year ago.”   
  


“Oh, shove it,” groans Kuroo, pushing his shoulder. Bokuto laughs heartily and leans over, kissing his cold cheek without thinking, his hand pressing to Kuroo’s neck. He jerks away quickly and reddens, a furious blush that spreads over his entire face.   
  


“Fuck! I’m sorry, man,” Bokuto groans, taking a step back and raking a distressed hand through his hair. Kuroo waves it off.   
  


“It’s cool,” he says, and Bokuto  _ hopes  _ he’s not imagining the pink that’s tinging Kuroo’s cheeks. “This  _ is _ romantic as hell.”   
  


Relief sinks into Bokuto’s chest– of  _ course  _ Kuroo wouldn’t be upset, it was just a dumb cheek kiss. He gives a breathless laugh and plops down against the grass, staring up at the sky before closing his eyes briefly. “Yeah. Kinda is.”   
  


He hears Kuroo settling down next to him, then feels a shoulder brush his own. “I know, right? We’ve basically been dating for like a year and a half.”   
  


Oh, Bokuto’s blush is back. “What makes you say that?!” he demands, eyes snapping open. Kuroo snorts.   
  


“You’re pretty much taking me out on dates,” he points out, grinning. Bokuto sticks his tongue out, snuggling down further into his coat.   
  


“Yeah right,” he defends, praying that he didn’t sound as flustered as he felt. “I would do dates right.”   
  


Kuroo raises his eyebrows and smirks, a cocky expression that  _ really  _ shouldn’t affect Bokuto as much as it does. “Oh? So if I were your boyfriend, what would you do?”   
  


“Everything,” Bokuto says immediately. “I mean, all the sappy shit. Flowers, asking your parents for permission, defending your honor in public. That stuff.”   
  


Kuroo taps his chin. “Well, let me see. You picked me a bouquet–”   
  


“ _ Bullshit _ , those were just daisies and crap!! And that was  _ one  _ time!–”   
  


“– asked my parents if you could take me out to the movies, the park, the beach–”   
  


“That’s normal friend stuff!–”   
  


“– and hugged me and told me I was  _ amazing  _ after that scrub Daishou sneered at my captaining skills.” Kuroo’s smirk widens. “So I’d say you are, in essence, my boyfriend.”   
  


Bokuto groans and flops back against the grass, covering his face. “You’re  _ unbelievable _ .”   
  


“And you kissed me on top of a mountain.”   
  


“This is a  _ hill _ , and I kissed your  _ cheek _ ! That’s nowhere near the same thing.”   
  


Kuroo sighs. “Alright, fine. Your loss.” He hesitates. “Well, and mine.”   
  


Bokuto slowly lowers his hands. “Why yours?” he asks, sitting up.   
  


“You’re a catch,” says Kuroo simply, glancing over and giving Bokuto a soft little smile that makes his stomach flip. “I think tons of people would be lucky to date you.”   
  


Bokuto stares for a good while, long enough to make Kuroo blink and glance away before he blurts “Can I kiss you for real?”   
  


“Eh?” Kuroo’s eyes widen, and this time Bokuto is  _ sure  _ he blushes.    
  


“I just– um–” Bokuto gulps. “You’re… being really sweet. And I kind of want to kiss you.”   
  


Kuroo sits up a little. “Only kind of?” he asks, and honestly  _ fuck this  _ because Kuroo is  _ really pretty  _ and  _ two inches away from Bokuto’s face what the fuck _ –   
  


“I really want to,” Bokuto amends, eyes flickering up to meet Kuroo’s. How long had he been staring at Kuroo’s mouth, curved into an eager little smile? He goes to say something else but he’s silenced by Kuroo grabbing his jaw and surging forward, and suddenly those lips are being smushed against his own, hard and a tad clumsy but  _ fuck _ , this is  _ perfect,  _ Kuroo is  _ kissing him _ –   
  


It ends quickly. Bokuto gives a noise of protest but Kuroo just shakes his head and leans back in, the angle better this time, and Bokuto’s sure he melts into the grass just a little.   
  


Kuroo’s lips are chapped thanks to the December chill, and his fingertips are freezing as they press to the tiny bit of exposed skin on Bokuto’s wrist, but none of that matters. His breath is hot and vaguely minty, and when Bokuto’s eyes flicker open just a little Kuroo’s expression– furrowed brows and red cheeks visible through the cross-eyed vision– makes everything seem just  _ perfect _ .   
  


They pull away again and Bokuto takes a couple of short breaths, a grin already spreading across his face. “You kissed me,” he whispers, and Kuroo just throws his head back and  _ laughs _ , clear and bright in the winter air.   
  


“I sure did.” He looks over, cheeks now a dark shade of red that suits him  _ very  _ well. “So? Are these dates, Koutarou?”   
  


Bokuto smiles, hopeful and a little sheepish. “Yeah. And I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…fall in love with me.”   
  


Kuroo’s eyes widen. “… mission accomplished,” he says, voice cracking in the middle. Bokuto gives a triumphant cry and just leans in, kissing him over and over and over again, chasing away the cold and trapping the warmth in their chests.


	12. instrument [BOKUROO]

“Do you know I play percussion?”

Kuroo blinks and lifts his head up from Bokuto’s lap, shifting a little. “I… no?”

“Oh.” Bokuto’s own head cocks owlishly. “Well… I do.”

Kuroo twists on the sofa and braces an elbow on one of Bokuto’s knees, peering interestedly up at him. “Where did this come from?” he asks, fingers trailing along his boyfriend’s thigh. Bokuto shrugs.

“Dunno. It’s just… we don’t know a whole lot about each other.”

Kuroo laughs. “Uh, bullshit. I know plenty about you.”

Bokuto huffs. “Oh? Like what?” he challenges, tapping two fingers against Kuroo’s nose.

“I know that you’re… a Virgo,” Kuroo begins, humming to himself. “I know that you hate math and you love volleyball, I know that your favorite color is yellow. I know that you’re one of the top 5 aces in the country, I know that you love giving and receiving hickeys, I know that you absolutely love getting your hair pulled when–”

“Stop!” Bokuto yelps, face red, “th-that’s enough.”

Triumphant, Kuroo settles back down. “So there. I know plenty.”

Bokuto huffs. “So for how long have I played percussion, wise one?”

Kuroo hesitates. “Can you  _actually_ play?”

“Yes!” exclaims Bokuto, looking and sounding hurt. Kuroo kisses him quick as an apology.

“My bad, Bo, but I don’t know,” he admits, sheepish. Bokuto looks away.

“Since I was eleven,” he says. “I didn’t do band or anything in high school, but… I’m still good.”

Kuroo smiles. “I bet you are,” he says, watching Bokuto blush happily. “Can you show me?”

“Hell yes!” Bokuto says eagerly, sitting up and skittering into his room. “Just a sec.”

Kuroo chuckles and leans his cheek against his fist as he watches curiously, Bokuto practically skipping back out holding a pair of drumsticks. He raises them show-offishly and Kuroo applauds, only slightly sarcastic. Bokuto grins and grabs a curved cooking sheet from the small kitchen, laying it face-down on the coffee table and tilting his head. “This should do.”

He sits and Kuroo scoots over a little, eyes still following his every movement. Bokuto takes a deep breath before drumming the sticks against the sheet, the sound not entirely pleasant but still rhythmic and clear. He actually  _is_ good, from what Kuroo can tell, watching his heels rise and fall against the carpet in time to his actions and occasionally tossing a stick up into the air. He finishes with a flourish and grins, eyes bright. “Well?”

Kuroo leans over and kisses his cheek. “Consider the matter closed. You’re a prodigy.”

“Hardly,” says Bokuto, though he’s obviously brimming with pride. He sets the sticks down and then begins to chat excitedly, hands waving in dramatic gestures, and Kuroo can’t help the little pang of familiarity and affection that grips his chest.

He knows Bokuto a little bit better now, after all.


	13. foolish [BOKUROO]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains nsfw (masturbation), unrequited love, and in general isn't the happiest fic :,) but since i like the way it turned out (and it's north of 3k jfc) i'm also posting it separately on my account!!

In hindsight, Kuroo had every reason to see it coming.

They’re sitting on the bleachers, watching a practice match between two smaller teams. Kuroo’s got his legs stretched out onto the next row but Bokuto is weirdly folded into himself, looking small and almost confused. Kuroo glances over. “Something on your mind?”

Bokuto hesitates for a heartbeat before nodding, chewing on his bottom lip. “Can I… talk to you for a second?” he asks, and Kuroo blinks.

“Sure.” He glances down at the court. “‘Round back?”

“That’d be great,” says Bokuto, standing quickly and shaking out his hands. Kuroo sends him a quizzical glance but the ace is already striding away.

Kuroo buttons up his jacket as they’re greeted with the cool air of late winter. “So?” he prompts. “What’s this about?”

“I need your… advice,” Bokuto says, voice slow and bizarrely halting. Kuroo snorts.

“And you’re coming to me, not Akaashi?” he asks, surprised. “You go to that guy for everything.”

Bokuto coughs. Kuroo’s not sure what to make of the pink tinging his cheeks. “Can’t– can’t go to him for this one.”

“Alright,” says Kuroo after a second. He’s not really liking the direction this conversation is going in. “So what do you need advice on?”

“Well…” Bokuto gulps. “I-I have a crush. On someone. A-and I need help on how to ask hi– er, this person out.”

He’s nervous, still, so Kuroo just nudges his shoulder. “Relax,” he urges, smiling a bit. “So who is it?”

Bokuto looks away. “I… won’t tell you.”

“Can you give me hints?”

“Smart. Pretty. Dark hair…” Bokuto gives a whimsical smile. “My best friend.”

Kuroo’s face  _burns_. Pretty, huh? “S-so, you want to confess to… this person?”

“Yeah!” Bokuto nods. “I-I really want to tell them before I graduate because, well…”

“I understand.” Kuroo’s heart is beating out of control and he can’t stop _smiling, damn it,_  but he eggs Bokuto on nonetheless. “I think you should just… go for it.”

Bokuto seems unimpressed. “Really?”

“Fuck yeah,” Kuroo laughs, light and airy. “I mean, you’re totally awesome. Whoever it is, if they reject you, I’ll… punch them.”

The other boy laughs as well, though it’s loud and boisterous. “That’s a funny visual,” he says, and Kuroo’s gut flips. Punching yourself does seem sort of silly.

“God, I…” Bokuto shakes his head and grins at the ground, genuine and warm. “We both know who I’m talking about, so why don’t we just say ‘him’?”

Kuroo feels, in all honesty, about ready to throw up. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft and a little shaky. “W-we can say that.”

Bokuto beams and hugs him tightly. “Thanks, Tetsu. I really think I can do it.” He breathes in deep. “Akaashi is so… particular, though.”

Oh.

Wait,  _what_?

“I mean…” Bokuto scratches his neck, smiling shyly. “I don’t want to mess it up. I want to impress him.”

Kuroo’s excited nerves turn to genuine nausea the longer Bokuto talks.

Of  _course_.

Pretty. Smart.

Bokuto’s… best friend.

Kuroo looks away, and  _fuck_ , his eyes are stinging. Any hope he had possessed is crushed, utterly, a dark sort of pain clawing at the inside of his chest and screaming for recognition.

Christ, this  _hurts_.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” says Kuroo, voice noticeably more hollow than before. It passes over Bokuto’s head, however, who’s still anxiously muttering to himself about what kind of flowers he should bring. Kuroo grits out a half-assed excuse and holds up his phone before turning, his head spinning as he starts to walk away, hands jammed deep into his pockets.

This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t  _right_ , this wasn’t supposed to  _hurt_ so much. Bokuto had always made him feel… well, happy.

He inhales unsteadily, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve as he makes his way for the train and hoping no one notices the slight shake of his shoulders.

***

He doesn’t hear from Bokuto until the next day. It’s a picture of Akaashi holding a bouquet partially over his face and Bokuto leaning over, kissing his cheek, the photo slightly blurry and followed by a ridiculous amount of heart emojis.

Kuroo stares at it, at  _him_ , for too long. He throws his phone down on the ground and grips onto his knees, chest heaving from his shaky breaths.

***

“Hey, Tetsu!  _Tetsu_!”

Kuroo flinches and turns just in time to brace himself as Bokuto throws himself forward, into a secure hug. “Where’ve you been for the past few days?! I’ve missed you!”

Akaashi’s slowly walking toward him as well, Bokuto’s jacket tucked under one arm. Kuroo forces his eyes away. “Busy,” he says, carefully prying Bokuto’s hands off of him. “Didn’t want to crowd the lovebirds.”

Bokuto laughs, warm and full, wrapping his arms around Akaashi’s neck and grinning at him. “Aww~ you didn’t have to!”

“He’s already been all over me,” says Akaashi, slightly amused, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watches Bokuto. Kuroo can’t help but notice that it’s a little detached, almost, like he was viewing Bokuto for something to comment on rather than just looking out of admiration.

Maybe Kuroo’s been in his head too long, stewing over hypotheticals. He really doesn’t know anymore.

“I’m sure,” he grits out, noticing how Akaashi’s analytical eyes then turn to him. His lip curls and Akaashi’s eyebrow raises just slightly.

“Well, ‘Kaashi and I have a hot date,” Bokuto boasts, kissing Akaashi’s cheek loudly.

“Sorry to keep you,” says Kuroo curtly, turning away. He hears Bokuto murmur in a confused tone but he just walks away, guilt and bitter resentment rising hotter than bile in his throat.

***

Bokuto had left a jacket at Kuroo’s house.

It’s nothing special– a greyish piece with yellow trim around the zipper and collar. Kuroo had never really liked it, since he teased that it was too similar a color to Bokuto’s hair, but now that it’s sitting over his desk chair and staring at him, Kuroo can’t look away from it.

Slowly, he rises from his bed and crosses the room. The house is silent at the late hour of night so his swallow seems deafening as he takes the jacket in his hands, turning it over and blinking quickly. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing when he lifts the jacket, burying his face in it and inhaling after a second.

Bokuto’s one of those people with a distinct  _smell_ , one that’s far from unpleasant. Kuroo’s stomach twists as he recognizes Bokuto’s shampoo and cologne, then the scent he can’t place, the unique one that clings to his skin and clothes. Kuroo’s eyes flutter closed as he grips onto the jacket.

_“Oh~ Tetsu, did you miss me?”_

_Kuroo’s eyes open as Bokuto steps in, closing the door behind himself with a grin. “You must really love me.”_

_“No shit,” Kuroo laughs, lowering the jacket and smiling back. Bokuto beams at him and walks closer, going on his tiptoes as he cups Kuroo’s cheeks and–_

Kuroo’s eyes snap open in reality this time. His heart had began to pound as he looks down at the jacket in his hands, gut writhing. He carefully walks backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he falls against it.

_“You’re awfully eager,” Kuroo says between kisses, feet tripping over one another as Bokuto’s hands fist in his shirt and gently push him back against the bed._

_“I can’t help myself,” answers Bokuto with a wink, one leg swinging over Kuroo’s hips as he straddles him smoothly. “Can you blame me?”_

_“No,” hums Kuroo, grinning and running his hands down Bokuto’s chest. “I’m a sexy beast.”_

Fuck, this probably–  _definitely_ – isn’t healthy. Kuroo’s hands tremble a little as he yanks a blanket up over himself, holding Bokuto’s jacket securely and giving a quiet groan as one hand slips down beneath the covers. He tries to imagine how Bokuto would feel, how he would sound, whether or not Bokuto would look at him with the excited gleam in his eyes that he gets when he looks at Akaashi.

_When Bokuto leans back down his shirt has been tossed aside and Kuroo makes an appreciative sound in the back of his throat, blunt fingernails digging into Bokuto’s tanned skin. “Fuck,” he slurs, feeling Bokuto’s mouth leave a searing trail down to his neck, “you’re really hot.”_

_Bokuto just chuckles a little, his warm, calloused hands sliding down Kuroo’s stomach to pull at his belt. “Thanks, babe,” he says, sucking gently and making Kuroo twitch in surprise._

_“Oi, careful! I don’t want marks,” he lies, shuddering as his shorts are yanked down. Bokuto glances up and his eyes are gleaming mischievously._

_“You don’t?” he asks, now kissing down Kuroo’s torso, ghosting over the fabric of his boxers down to his inner thighs. Teeth graze over his skin. “What about down here, can I leave them here?”_

Kuroo jerks as his eyes snap open and a quiet gasp is torn from his throat, heart beating wildly in his chest. He had never done anything like this before, but his imagination was getting away from him, unable to chase away the thought of Bokuto’s hands, mouth,  _anything_ touching his skin. His shaking hand pushes down his boxers and his fingers wrap around his cock, already hard and flushed red.

_“Ahh– fuck, Koutarou,” Kuroo pants, his back arching as Bokuto’s tongue runs slowly over the pinkish marks blooming on his inner thighs, “j-just touch me already.”_

_“Where’s the fun in that?” Bokuto asks, a grin stretching across his face as he kisses back up Kuroo’s body until their lips are smashed together. Kuroo moans into the touch and squeezes his eyes shut, hips rolling up with a sense of desperation._

_Bokuto pulls away and Kuroo can tell that he’s going to say something teasing, so he gets ahead of it. “Koutarou,” he breathes, hips still shifting in subtle movements as he stares up at Bokuto, “_ please _, Kouta, I want you to touch me. Can you do that, p– please?”_

_A pretty blush covers Bokuto’s cheeks and he nods, almost shy, throat pulsing around a swallow as he kisses Kuroo sweetly and slips a hand between his legs. Kuroo all but melts at the touch, body twitching and shuddering as Bokuto’s hand wraps around his cock._

_“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, hips driving up into Bokuto’s fist after he’s pulled away for air, “d-don’t stop, Kouta, you feel amazing.”_

_Bokuto’s still blushing as he buries his face in Kuroo’s neck and kisses him over and over, wrist twisting and fingers squeezing and hand pumping quickly until Kuroo is panting and clutching desperately to Bokuto’s shoulders._

_“Good,” Kuroo whispers, feeling heat crawl through his stomach. “A-ah, fuck, Koutarou I can’t– I can’t hold it back, please don’t stop, please, please–”_

“ _Please_ ,” gasps Kuroo, and he barely has time to jam a couple of fingers into his mouth to stifle what would have been a loud moan as his release slams into him. His toes curl and his back arches off the bed as he groans around his fingers and gives a tiny little whimper, Bokuto’s jacket bunched up into his neck as his own hand continues to move rapidly.

_“Aww, you’re cute,” Bokuto coos, prying his own shirt away from Kuroo’s hands. “Don’t you want the real thing, twitchy?”_

_“Shut up,” Kuroo pants quietly, eyelashes fluttering as his hands reach out blindly for the other boy. Bokuto snuggles into his side and Kuroo sighs as his arms wind around Bokuto’s torso. “You’re warm.”_

_“So you’ve said,” hums Bokuto, voice soft and tender near Kuroo’s ear. “Do you feel okay?”_

_“I feel amazing,” Kuroo says, pressing in close and shivering. “I’m glad you’re here.”_

Kuroo’s eyes open slowly. He’s alone in his bedroom, Bokuto’s jacket clutched in one hand, his other dirtied with the product of his own longing.

***

Fukurodani and Nekoma have an overnight joint practice scheduled, and Kuroo is really beginning to regret it. He had already been trying to keep his distance from Bokuto, but as the captains of their team with an unabashed friendship, the awkwardness that had blossomed between them would become obvious. Bokuto’s jacket is buried shamefully in the bottom of his backpack as he steps into the gymnasium, heart pounding. Kenma, who almost definitely knows what’s going on by this point, watches him out of the corner of his eye. Kuroo just strides forward. “Bokuto.”

The other captain looks over and grins. “Tetsu! What’s up?”

Guilt jolts in Kuroo’s gut at the nickname. “You left a jacket over at my house a few weeks ago,” he says lamely, digging it out of his backpack and holding it out. “Figured you would want it back.”

Bokuto blinks. “Oh, thanks,” he says, a bit of his cheer fading from his voice. He takes the jacket and tilts his head. “It’s soft.”

“I washed it.” Kuroo couldn’t bear it if Bokuto’s scent lingered on any of his stuff. “I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s fine,” Bokuto says quickly, grinning again. “Thanks, Tetsu!”

“No problem,” says Kuroo, smiling tightly before turning away. Kenma watches him wordlessly.

Their first few matches go as expected, with Bokuto spurred on by the quiet approval from his setter and boyfriend. They tie 1-1 when they’re called away for dinner, teams dispersing into the showers before eagerly making their ways outside.

Kuroo, of course, finds himself doubling back after realizing he forgot his shampoo in one of the showers. He sighs as he pushes open the door, halting as he hears voices still inside.

“This is dangerous, Bokuto-san, we could get caught.”

Kuroo’s heart wrenches as he freezes in the doorway, mostly in shadow as his eyes drift toward the line of partially-obstructed showers. He spots Bokuto easily, dip-dyed hair wet and clinging to the back of his neck, broad, very bare shoulders visible above the barriers. Akaashi is almost completely hidden, his slimmer form tucked into Bokuto’s. The ace murmurs something Kuroo can’t hear and his eyes lock on the floor, gut twisting with sickening nausea.

He has to leave, now. Whatever he hears, whatever he sees, won’t be what he wants to.

Still, he can’t. He knows that it’s Akaashi Bokuto is with, it’s Akaashi Bokuto is currently kissing, touching, pressing against the cold wall of the shower.

It’s Akaashi that makes Bokuto give a low, startled moan.

Kuroo shivers and closes his eyes, trying not to listen yet straining for every sound.

“Mmph– wait, wait, I wanna try somethin’,” says Bokuto, and Kuroo carefully peeks his head around in time to see Akaashi get hauled into his line of view.

“H-holding me up isn’t safe,” Akaashi hisses, hands running through Bokuto’s hair. Bokuto gives a boisterous laugh and leans in again, kissing him over and over, neither of them noticing the flash of movement that was Kuroo ducking out of the locker room and gagging into a trash can.

***

The next day is torturous for Kuroo, since Akaashi’s shirt is a bit too low-cut.

Akaashi’s shirt doesn’t completely cover the marks blooming on his neck  _and_ Bokuto’s at the top of his game, which means that they get completely obliterated. The match ends with Fukurodani’s setter getting spun around and kissed, joyous and hard, right on the mouth. Kuroo’s throat closes up and he clenches his fists, ignoring Kenma’s wary, persistent gaze.

“Tetsu!” Bokuto waves and beams. “Good game!”

“Good game,” Kuroo agrees shortly, forcing on a smile. Akaashi is still watching him, eyes rather cold. Their gazes lock and Kuroo gains a degree of pride when Akaashi looks away first, but it’s immediately pounded into a dust when he just pulls Bokuto down and kisses him again.

Their coaches both grumble protests, Lev whoops, Komi catcalls, and Kuroo looks at the opposite wall.

God, he can’t do this. Especially not with Akaashi knowing, gloating.

Kuroo’s aware that he’s being antagonistic. He’s also aware of Bokuto’s  _happiness_ , infectious and pure, growing stronger and stronger when his calloused fingers slide between Akaashi’s thin ones. Kuroo refuses Kenma’s insistently disapproving, worried eyes as he jams a hand into his pocket and inhales through his teeth.

Of  _course_ it was Akaashi. Kuroo was a fool to think otherwise.

“Take five, captain,” Yaku recommends. “You look like you need some air.”

Most of his team is staring– god, was it that obvious?– and Kuroo gives a slight nod before turning and wrenching open the gymnasium door. He doesn’t notice Bokuto’s eyes tracking him out, but he wouldn’t have reacted otherwise anyway.

***

Kuroo’s sitting against the building, gazing up at the grey sky when the door opens again and Bokuto pokes his head out. “Tetsu? You okay?”

Perfect. “Yeah,” says Kuroo, though that doesn’t deter Bokuto from wandering over and plopping down next to him. His eyes have grown softer, Kuroo notices, thinking it was because of Akaashi. It wasn’t, but he didn’t know that.

“Is something wrong?” asks Bokuto quietly, glancing over, prompting Kuroo’s eyes to snap away. “You’ve been actin’ sort of weird.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. “I miss you,” Bokuto admits, knocking their knees together. Kuroo blinks quickly and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip for a second, closing his eyes.

He can’t cry. Don’t cry, don’t cry, _don’t cry_ –

“Tetsurou?!”

Kuroo’s eyelids part slowly. He’s not crying, but his eyes are red and they feel a little swollen. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Bokuto insists. Fuck him, honestly, always being so kind and concerned. “What’s going on?”

Kuroo looks over at him, feeling his last thoughts of confusion and apprehension fade away in the worried gold of Bokuto’s irises. What else has he got to lose, really?

“I’m in love with you.”

Bokuto’s entire body goes stiff and Kuroo looks away. It felt good to finally say, but he knows the words are falling on unhearing ears, knows they’ll prompt awkward glances and the end of a long friendship. “And… I know I’m a dick for saying that.” Kuroo laughs bitterly. “Trust me, I… I do.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Bokuto says after a second, voice weirdly hollow. Kuroo shrugs half-heartedly.

“I was terrified of rejection. And now I know, I– I definitely would have gotten rejected.” He shakes his head. “Stupid. Doesn’t matter.”

“Not stupid,” Bokuto mumbles. “I’m just… I wish you would’ve told me.”

“It wouldn’t have ma–”

“It might have,” Bokuto interrupts, then flinches. “It… might have.”

Kuroo, unable to accept what he was hearing, scoffs and stands up. “I– look, I’m really sorry,” he says, sniffling a bit, “but watching you with him, watching him be all– all touchy and lovey and shit, it  _hurts_. It feels like I’ve been gutted, since I’ve spent  _way_ too long imagining what it would feel like to touch you the way he does.”

Bokuto’s eyes grow huge, from either hurt or shock, and Kuroo cusses before he looks away.

It’s a shitty thing, he knows. Bokuto’s dating his best friend, he’s incredibly happy. Kuroo has no right to say what he just did.

“… I’m gonna go,” Kuroo says, running a hand through his frizzy hair. “Just– I’m sorry. Just forget it.”

“How do you expect me to forget that?” Bokuto says, voice uncharacteristically harsh. Kuroo flinches and Bokuto shrinks away a little too, the silence stretching on between them. Kuroo kicks at some turn and spins on his heel, shame and regret simmering low in his gut, not turning when Bokuto scrambles to his feet.

“Tetsurou!”

He halts. Bokuto exhales shakily and Kuroo doesn’t protest when the shorter boy rounds to his front. “I’m… sorry,” he says, honesty seeping through everything he does, every word he says. “I’m really,  _really_ sorry, I’ve been such a dick–”

“You haven’t been.” Kuroo shakes his head fiercely. “Shut up. I was way out of line.”

Bokuto obviously wants to protest, but Kuroo silences him with an impatient wave of his hand. “I hope Akaashi makes you happy,” he says, shouldering past Bokuto and stalking inside.

If he would’ve turned, he would have seen Bokuto twist his hands and pace around anxiously, eyes watering just a little, seen him slam a hand into the wall of the gym and bury his face in the crook of his elbow.

Maybe Kuroo would have heard Bokuto sniffle, or more importantly–

“I would have been happy with you, too.”


	14. haunted [IWAOI + MATSUHANA]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slight-sequel to day 10, honor!

“Does it ever keep you up at night?”

Oikawa shifts just slightly, cranes his neck, rests his head against Hanamaki’s shoulder. The other is staring at the opposite wall, robes discarded, walls down even around his great king. “You know. Them.”

“Of course it does.” Oikawa snorts just slightly and closes his eyes, hearing Hanamaki swallow. “It’s always plaguing me, Makki, I’m always on the brink of a complete re-evaluation about every decision I’ve made under my command.” His eyelids flicker open. “It haunts me to think that I could have executed the order that sent them to their death.”

Hanamaki takes a shaky breath, raising his hands to wipe at his eyes. Oikawa shifts and captures them in his own, mouth drawn into a hard line. “Stop,” he says shortly. “Just stop thinking about it.”

A sarcastic scoff. “As if it’s that easy--”

“It’s not. I know.” Oikawa shakes his head and sits up just slightly, trying to get Hanamaki to look at him. “Having someone you love so far away from you, not knowing how they’re faring, if they’re even still--” He twitches slightly. “I  _ know _ , I promise. But you have to be strong.”

“I  _ can’t _ ,” Hanamaki hisses, eyes still watering. “I-I’m done with being strong, I’m done missing him, I want-- w-want him  _ back,  _ want to know that he’s  _ safe _ \--”

“Takahiro,” says Oikawa, voice hard and startling Hanamaki into looking up, “he  _ needs  _ you to be strong. He needs your faith right now more than ever, because if you don’t believe that he’s going to be okay, then hell, what kind of message are you sending him? You’ve always had his back, haven’t you?”

Hanamaki looks down, a hitching sob getting ripped from his throat as rain pummels down against the windows. “I see him everywhere,” he says after a second, glancing around Oikawa’s bedroom. The king gives a sad little smile.

“I know,” he says, pulling Hanamaki into his chest and clutching him tightly.

The storm pummels the kingdom, and far, far away, the sun shines down on two men just trying to get back home. 


	15. intimacy [IWAOI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> genderbent because i CAN and i have lots of FEELINGS (winkwink)

Parties were dull for Hajime, unnecessary. Solo cups would litter the yard of whatever borrowed house they occupied as a bunch of third-years tried to feel like adults. Hajime sits in the corner of the room, a water bottle clenched in her fist, scanning for her friends.

They were, of course, nowhere to be found. Takahiro and Issei had probably snuck off a while ago. With a huge sigh Hajime stands, ducking around people easily until she missteps and runs directly into someone.

She’s tall, strong,  _gorgeous_. She stumbles just slightly as Hajime bumps into her but doesn’t slip, blinking down at her with huge brown eyes. “Sorry,” blurts Hajime, gripping her water bottle hard. “I-- ah. Didn’t mean for that.”

“It’s alright,” answers the stranger in a somewhat teasing voice, smiling slyly down at her. “In a rush to leave?”

Hajime sighs. “Somewhat,” she admits. “My friends bolted. They’re probably gonna make out in a broom closet or something.”

The girl nods, gives her a not-so-subtle once-over that makes Hajime redden. “So come with me,” she urges, smiling wider as her slender, slightly calloused fingers wrap around Hajime’s wrist. Hajime blinks but can’t bring herself to protest as the girl pulls her along, curly brown hair bouncing and heels clicking against the wood floors.

They fall back onto a couch and Hajime coughs as the girl extends her long legs and crosses them over the coffee table, tilting her head back and draining her cup. “... er.”

“Oikawa,” she introduces, crushing the cup (she didn’t need to do that, thinks Hajime, though she still finds it weirdly hot) and tossing it into a trash bin. “Tooru.”

“Tooru,” says Hajime slowly. “You… do I know you?”

The girl-- Tooru-- tilts her head, surveys Hajime behind long lashes. “I play volleyball. On…” Oddly enough, her nose wrinkles slightly. “Shiratorizawa.”

Hajime makes a low noise in the back of her throat. “The enemy,” she accuses, and surprisingly Tooru laughs.

“A-fucking-men,” she says, voice dripping with disdain. “I wanted to go to Seijoh, where you are.”

It takes Hajime a second, but she eventually realizes that Oikawa probably saw the small logo on her jacket. Pretty girls make her lose focus. “... right.”

“So do you play?” asks Tooru, her glittery eyes flicking up to Hajime. “I think I’d recognize you off-court if you did.”

“Used to,” grunts Hajime. “Quit in my second year to focus on my studies. Plus, I hated getting crushed by Shiratorizawa and their genius fucking setter.”

Tooru looks delighted, fingers skirting up Hajime’s arm. “Flatterer.”

“Flirt,” Hajime shoots back. Tooru’s eyebrows raise but she doesn’t deny it, the catchy song from a room or two over making Hajime’s knee bounce. It’s definitely not jitters.

“You were the wing spiker,” muses Tooru after a moment, and Hajime swallows as Tooru’s fingers secure around her bicep. “You still play something?”

“Track,” Hajime says. “Shot-put and discus.”

Tooru grins up at her. “Strong lady,” she says, fingers steadily creeping up to Hajime’s shoulder and neck. Hajime’s still deep in confusion, mostly unbelieving that this is even happening. She doesn’t  _get_ hit on, especially not by gorgeous brunettes with long legs and teal eyeshadow. She tilts her head back against the couch and Tooru meets her eyes, licks her lips quickly and Hajime’s gaze shifts down to her mouth, dusted pink.

“You know,” Tooru muses, teeth catching on that plump bottom lip Hajime had been staring at, “I’m… here alone.”

“Really? A pretty girl like you?” Hajime retorts immediately, relishing in Tooru’s pleased blush.

“I’m not here  _with_ anyone,” she stresses, dark eyes glittering as she leans in and kisses Hajime’s nose. “Silly  _Hajime_.”

Hajime’s heart trips over itself. Tooru pulls away and Hajime just surges forward, kissing her properly, spurred on entirely by attraction and the fact that Tooru is  _into_ her  _,_ holy  _shit_.

They pull away after a moment. Tooru’s got red cheeks and a coy smile-- a familiar song starts in the room over.

“Do you want to dance?” she murmurs, and barely waits for Hajime to answer before they’re tripping over each other and laughing as they stumble into the living room.

It’s crowded, and no one really pays them much attention as the song thumps around them. Tooru turns to face her and there’s a flirtatious look on her face, pretty lashes fluttering as she grabs her hands and pulls Hajime in flush. “  _I’m hooked on all these feelings_ ,” she mouths, hips swaying in time to the catchy beat. Hajime shudders as gets pressed close, mind and body buzzing as Tooru’s fingers tangle with her own, catching the melody again when the words are being pressed against her own mouth. Was this happening?  _Actually_ happening?

“  _You spent the night, you got me high, oh what did you do_?” breathes Tooru, her voice strained as Hajime leans in to kiss her. She jerks away and grins, taunting and flirty, Hajime groaning against her will and glaring as Tooru spins and winks at her, wrapped up in the circle of Hajime’s arms as they dance. People are staring, but  _lord_ , Hajime doesn’t care.

“  _I laugh about it, dream about that casual touch_ ,” and now it’s Hajime purring along to the lyrics, relishing in how Tooru laughs and drops her head onto Hajime’s shoulder. “  _Sex, fire, sick and tired of acting all tough_.”

“That’s it,” teases Tooru, body moving so  _perfectly_ against Hajime’s that she feels hot excitement begin to curl in her stomach. Tooru twists and suddenly their foreheads knock together, both of them still mouthing along to the words, breaths puffing shortly out.

Tooru is  _gorgeous_. Her hips roll smoothly and her hair tickles Hajime’s nose and her  _hands_ , calloused but still slender and beautiful, slide along Hajime’s hair, neck, trailing down to her back and waist. Hajime feels like she’s on  _fire,_ but the song ends too quickly. Hajime swallows thickly as her hands settle on Tooru’s waist and the taller girl licks her bottom lip, a quick flash of pink that Hajime’s eyes zero in on. “Restroom,” she whispers.

They trip up the stairs from there and Tooru slams the door shut, spinning around so quickly that she becomes a little dizzy. “Not so suave,” Hajime muses, going on her tiptoes so that they’re eye level. Tooru huffs-- her breath smells like mint.

When Hajime’s back hits that door her arms are wrapped around Tooru’s neck and their lips are angled together, the other girl’s wandering hands uncaring of boundaries as they slip down and up under Hajime’s shirt.

It’s… new. Nice,  _really_ fucking nice, but not something Hajime’s used to. It’s intimate, personal, and there’s a thrill that came with making out with a near-stranger at a party. Tooru’s crowding her against the wall and Hajime exhales, shaky and excited, when her lips slowly part.

Tooru pulls away after a while, a smile curling at the corners of her mouth as her fingers press against Hajime’s bare skin. “You feel okay?”

“  _Okay_?” repeats Hajime, sputtering slightly. “Yeah. I feel okay.”

Tooru’s grin turns into a smirk as she leans back and this time it’s more relaxed, with Hajime’s hands sliding up into Tooru’s hair and her back arching just slightly into the touch.

Hajime feels incredible, actually. Tooru’s fingertips drag down her chest and she shudders, mind going hazy as her own hands cup Tooru’s full hips.

They break away and Tooru grins, huge and wanting. “Lock the door.”


	16. defiance [IWAOI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very very very slight body horror (it's fhq-centric lol)
> 
> also sORRY I'M SO LATE FORGIVE ME

“I knew you would come back, Hajime.”

His voice is exactly how Hajime recalls it; soft and teasing, yet obviously holding command, confident to the point of arrogance. His posture remains tall and proud, fingers easily intertwined in front of him as if he had all the time in the world to spare. Tooru’s eyes glimmer with intelligence and emotions unhuman behind those crimson irises, narrowed and focused. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” says Hajime, though it’s a lie. He strides closer, unburdened by the heavy armor, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve come to give you one last chance.”

Tooru scoffs and shakes his head. “You are in no position to be handing out second chances, Hajime.”

“This isn’t a second chance.” Iwaizumi’s teeth grit– he jerks to a halt before the stairs leading up to Tooru’s throne, of which the demon king stood before. “This is a hail mary.”

“Oh… adorable,” murmurs Tooru, a grin playing at his lips, stretching to reveal lengthened canines. “Is your resistance so weak?”

“You know damn well the state of our resistance,” growls Hajime, fingers unconsciously tightening on his sword. His eyes flicker up.

“Wouldn’t you,” he continues slowly, “traitorous king?”

Tooru just smiles, curious and dangerous. “We overthrew the king, didn’t we?” he asks, slowly descending those stairs, imposing in on Hajime like a thick fog. “We threw the system.”

“And you took control of the ruin,” Hajime says, anger and bitter regret twisting in his chest– the ugly thing. “You seized the reigns of that anarchy and let yourself lose  _everything_.”

Tooru stretches out his arms, batlike wings blocking the light from the stained glass behind him. “And yet I gained so much,” he hisses, now grinning wildly. “And yet you are offering  _me_ pity? And yet here you stand, begging for me to come back to you?”

“You were one of  _us_ ,” seethes Hajime, lip curled. “You were a  _leader_ , the face of the rebellion, known by the nobles to the street rats–”

“And now they  _fear_ me,” interrupts Tooru, long-nailed fingers twitching. Hajime feels a pull in his chest. “We wanted a new king, didn’t we? We got one. I have this nation under my  _thumb_ , it goes where I choose, it does what I command.”

Hajime tries to protest, tries to insist that this twisted control has never been his goal, but Tooru just takes the last step until his fingers can reach out to hold Hajime’s jaw in a bruising grip. “So I suppose I should ask,” he says,  _purrs_ , nails digging into his skin, “won’t you join me, my love?”

Hajime feels another pull, deep and longing. Tooru’s curling hair falls over his forehead as the king leans down, nose brushing against Hajime’s, the only thing tethering the warrior to reality was the cruel smile on his old friend’s face. “We could run the world, you and me,” Tooru murmurs, tongue darting out over his cracked lips. Hajime takes a jerky step back.

“No,” he says, swallowing down his fear. Tooru’s mouth twists into something loathsome and ugly. “I will fight you with my  _dying_ breath, you turncoat, you  _filth_.”

Shadows creep up the wall and Tooru’s head lolls to the side, oddly sickening, fingers twitching in unnatural ways. “Get out,” he says, eyes gleaming, shoulders hunched. “Lest you want your last breath to be drawn right now, my love, my precious  _knight_.”

Hajime doesn’t turn around– he trips over himself as he keeps his eyes on Tooru, bathed in darkness, wings twitching until they’re stretched out above his head. Fear strikes through Hajime’s chest like a dagger and he yanks open the heavy door, away from the wild laughter that bounces off of the walls, running as if he had the devil on his heels.

In a way, he did.


	17. jubilant [USHITEN]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwaoi is there but not There yk
> 
> (it's november and i'm finally catching up on inktober rip me)

The drop of the ball on the other side of the court echoes through the gymnasium, and following it, there are tumultuous roars.

Ushijima’s breath catches in his throat and his chest swells as someone– a teammate– tackles him into a hug, laughing, praising his serve that had finished off the game. Blood rushes in his ears as teammates crowd in around him, voices hoarse from cheers and on-court support; even Oikawa is there, eyes shining with furious pride, his hand roughly smacking Ushijima’s back, over that famed red jersey.

“We fucking  _did_ it, Ushiwaka,” he crows, grinning wildly and wiping at his eyes. Ushijima merely gives a stunned nod, clenching both of his fists and inhaling shakily.

_We won._

A figure streaks out of the lower bleachers, shouldering past the people stationed to keep him out and sprinting towards them. Iwaizumi tackles Oikawa into a hug that sends them both stumbling, spinning slightly on the spot while unable to contain their euphoria. Ushijima hears _you made it_ and _god, you’re amazing_  and _I love you, I love you, I love you._

Ushijima tears his eyes away from them. Bokuto and Kuroo are locked into a hug that then relaxes to admit a few others, their coach is excitedly talking to the referee, and all around him the joy, the jubilance is palpable.

He glances up toward the bleachers. No one else had been allowed to spill down onto the court, and he sees no shock of red hair, no Cheshire grin. That’s fine, he supposes. After what had happened, seeing Tendou probably wouldn’t have been good for him anyway.

The rest is sort of a blur of fierce congratulations and tight handshakes. They bow, they thank their opponents, they help clean up.The team (along with a few extras, Iwaizumi’s hand is still clasped tight in Oikawa’s) gets herded into the locked room and they’re all abuzz with chatter, making plans of where to grab dinner before they reconvene at the gymnasium. Ushijima stands in the shower for longer than he ever has before, letting the hot water soothe his aching muscles. The number of people sharing the space with him trickles down.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa are still there, and both of them glance over as he steps out of the stall with a towel around his waist. “Is something wrong or does he always look like that?” Iwaizumi asks quietly. Oikawa waves a hand.

“Oi, Ushiwaka.” Oikawa slaps a towel over his shoulder and leans against the lockers. “Have you talked to him?”

Ushijima slowly retrieves his clothes. “I do not know who you mean.”

“Tendou. Satori. The one who looks like a chipmunk and who is probably the reason you’re not fully enjoying yourself.” Oikawa leans down and squints at him. “You really haven’t talked to him since you confessed?”

Iwaizumi chokes on air and Ushijima sighs. “It was not a confession.”

“Bull _shit_  it wasn’t,” Oikawa challenges. “What else could you have said to piss him off so much?”

“He was not ‘pissed off’,” Ushijima says, voice a little irritated. “He was confused. Maybe… disappointed.”

He half expects the other two to mock him, but neither of them do. Ushijima sighs and stands, slipping on boxers under his towel. “It is in the past,” he says, dropping the towel and slipping on a shirt and shorts. “And if he wants nothing more to do with me, I will respect his…”

The door opens and Ushijima blinks. A figure steps through– tall, lean, familiar, with crimson hair a little better tamed than he remembers and a bouquet clutched in one freckled hand. “… Satori?”

Tendou visibly swallows and lifts his other hand, waggling a few fingers. “Heya, Wakatoshi,” he says, voice soft.

Ushijima’s mouth feels dry. Oikawa and Iwaizumi share an obvious glance at one another and they’re quick to round up the last of their belongings, slipping out the door past Tendou, who had stepped aside. “Satori, what are you doing here?”

“Apologizing,” Tendou says sheepishly, holding out the bouquet of carnations. “I… I wanted to come watch your big winning game, but my midterm ran long. Some of it played on the train, though.”

Ushijima takes the flowers, still puzzled. “Are you not…?”

“Mad?” Tendou shakes his head and sighs, looking almost regretful. “Nah, I… I was being super childish, Wakatoshi. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

Tendou halts. “It’s been about a year now, hasn’t it?”

“A little over,” Ushijima says, lips pursed. Tendou looks up at him with an odd look in his eyes, brows knitting together. He takes a step closer.

“Are you mad?” he asks tentatively. A bit of the rigidity eases from Ushijima’s spine.

“No,” he answers honestly. He looks down at the flowers. “I’m not.”

He sees Tendou grin in his peripheral. “Good,” he says, and suddenly he’s a lot closer.

Tendou’s fingers– knobbly and a little calloused, covered in scars– press to his cheeks. Ushijima’s eyes widen just slightly and he’s given no time to react before Tendou kisses him, uncoordinated and off-center and so stereotypically  _perfect_.

Tendou rocks back on his heels after a moment. There’s a pretty flush growing behind the constellations of freckles splattered over his cheeks. “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you on that,” he says, the memory of Ushijima gently kissing Tendou’s cheek and murmuring heartfelt words after a nostalgic evening of visiting their old town swimming through both of their minds. “I was afraid.”

Fear was something Tendou would seldom admit, especially not in such a direct way. Ushijima blinks and swallows down the quiet happiness threatening to close up his throat. “Afraid of what?”

“Of losing you,” Tendou tries, then frowns slightly. “Well, not of… you. I knew we were going to different universities and all so I was prepared for that, but…”

Ushijima understands. Things wouldn’t have been easy with the distance between them, and their busy schedules wouldn’t allow frequent visits. “Are you still afraid?” he asks softly, reaching down and taking Tendou’s hands in both of his own. Lord, at this rate, he’s almost forgotten his big win– all he can see is Tendou, gaze at the fluttering of his eyelashes as their eyes meet and the curl of his mouth into a wide grin.

“No.”


	18. waiting [ODAZAI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am a sad odazai stan

A thin smile stretches over Dazai’s lips and he turns in his stool, watching as one of his drinking partners stands before clearing his throat. “Odasaku, where are you off to?”

The older man shrugs on his coat, putting out his cigarette. “Off on a minor job,” he says, giving a slight shrug. Dazai watches him behind curious eyes as Oda glances over. “Am I seeing you tonight?”

“Of course,” says Dazai lazily, resting his cheek on his fist and blinking slowly. “I’ll be waiting, Odasaku.”

***

The morning is slow but it’s comfortable, almost oddly so. Dazai sighs as warm, slightly calloused fingers slide up his side, deliberate and tender. He twists onto his back and smiles crookedly up at Oda, who’s looking at him rather peculiarly. “Hmm. So sappy, Odasaku.”

Oda gives the softest of chuckles and leans down, meeting Dazai halfway and kissing him gently, those familiar fingers sliding up into his hair and pressing to his scalp.

Dazai pulls away and sighs, the deep-set ache in his bones somewhat dulled. “We should go into work soon,” he says, one arm slithering around Oda’s neck. Oda just leans in and kisses his forehead.

“Work can wait.”

***

Dazai gains new scars and Oda always notices, kissing them gently and massaging the weariness from Dazai’s bones. It doesn’t always work, but when it does– when Dazai leans back into Oda and sighs– god, he can almost feel himself falling in love, so distant from the moments with blood and death and fear. Dazai looks up and smiles, reserved and tired, letting his eyes drift shut as Oda’s tender hands try to keep his ever-growing darkness at bay. “Will you take me with you?” asks Dazai, feeling Oda falter slightly.

“Take you where?”

“To the ocean. Where you will write your stories and leave this city behind.” Dazai’s eyes flicker open. “Will you wait for me?”

Oda’s arms tighten around him, just a little. A soft kiss is pressed to his hair.

“I’ll wait.”

***

Wind tugs at Dazai’s clothes and hair as he trudges up the hill, one hand shoved deep into his pockets, the other holding a modest arrangement of flowers. There’s a single gravestone up on the top, under the shade of that big tree Dazai has grown to know, overlooking the endless ocean. Dazai kneels down next to it and sets down the flowers, as white and pure as Oda had been. He crosses his legs and just closes his eyes, letting the smell of salt and the sting of the breeze wipe away the smears on his conscience.

Eventually he opens his eyes again, focusing on the crashing of the waves far below. He glances at the grave, simple and strong, the same soft tone of grey that Dazai imagined Oda’s hair would’ve turned to. He takes a moment to still the terrible longing in his chest before he stands, dusting at the grass stains on his tawny slacks. He looks back at the grave.

“You made it to the ocean, Odasaku,” he says softly, “but you didn’t wait for me.”

Dazai turns but he doesn’t glance back, doesn’t look at that huge oak tree or the foggy horizon or that solitary grave, a reminder of a life that should not have been lost.

And Dazai does not return.


	19. nature [IWAOI, MATSUHANA]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all of these relationship things are just implied lol

“For the last time, you imbecile, we are  _lost_.”

“And _for the last time, Mattsun_ , you need to have more faith in me!”

Matsukawa Issei rolls his eyes to the heavens and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe that your quest to ‘ _tune your intuition_ ’ ends with the three of us getting lost in the woods. It’s insanity.”

“Hey, have a bit of faith,” defends Iwaizumi. “Oikawa may be rather dumb–”

“Hey!–”

“But he knows what he’s doing when it comes to this sort of thing,” strains the warrior, snorting a little. He nudges Oikawa’s shoulder, gently tugging on the fabric of his teal robe. “Now tell us where Kiraeth is.”

Oikawa smiles, sickeningly sweet– Matsukawa groans. “Well, according to my magic–”

“Oh, lo and behold, my wonderful  _magic_ –”

“It should be about an hour’s walk west,” says Oikawa, nodding confidently. He strides forward and the other two follow, Matsukawa begrudgingly, when–

“You are definitely going the wrong way.”

All three of them whip around, Iwaizumi drawing a sword. Matsukawa’s eyes grow wide when he spots the figure up in the trees, a spindly thing with fair skin and hair. His wings spread, huge and akin to a butterfly’s, catching on the slight breeze as he lowers himself down and smirks. “Kiraeth is a walk until sundown going south of here.”

“I  _told_ you,” crows Matsukawa, triumphant. Iwaizumi just rolls his eyes, pulling out a map for the first time on their journey and frowning at it. Oikawa looks down at the forest floor with disappointment in his gaze.

“What business would an alchemist, a mage, and a warrior have in Kiraeth?” asks the woodland creature curiously. His captivating wings beat slowly. “There is nothing for you there.”

“This was a test,” Matsukawa says, leaning against a tree not far from the stranger and passing his eyes over him. “To see if he could get us through this perilous forest without losing his way. He has failed.”

Iwaizumi shoots him a sour look but Oikawa just sighs. “No, no, the sprite is correct,” he says miserably. Matsukawa glances back at the fair-haired being– a sprite? “I  _have_ failed.”

The sprite suddenly grins, mischief playing in his eyes. “Do not worry, silly humans. You are not far from Kiraeth now.” He points to Iwaizumi. “That one has figured it out.”

Oikawa blinks quickly. “You– did you lie to us?”

“I did. Don’t get many travelers around here and I get bored.”  The sprite slinks forward, giving Matsukawa an interested look, knobbly fingers playing with the buttons on his cloak. “Won’t you linger?”

“Afraid not, darling,” Matsukawa sighs, “I have to babysit these kids.”

The sprite frowns. “Those two are not grown humans?”

“No, no, we are quite grown,” reassures Oikawa, smirking at Matsukawa. “He’s just trying to distract you from the fact that he  _loooost_.”

Matsukawa chuckles. “I think I’m the real winner here,” he muses, lifting a hand to drag his fingers along the sprite’s hair. “Tell me, o beautiful one, what is thy name?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” mutters Iwaizumi from somewhere behind him. The sprite laughs.

“To give thee mine own name would be to give thee power,” he points out, “and my soul is a cautious one.”

Matsukawa laughs and shakes his head a little. “Damn. Better luck next time.”

“Perhaps.” The sprite steps back, amused, a grin playing at his lips. “Continue on the way you were, travelers.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and tucks the map away, taking Oikawa’s arm in his hand and walking forward. Matsukawa trails behind, glancing over his shoulder for the sprite, who had already vanished into the thicket.


	20. sheltered [SHEITH]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im,, back?

‘ _Just breathe_ ,’ Keith reminds himself, heart starting to pound as he scans the crowds of people leaving the final security check. ‘ _Nothing will have changed. It’s okay. You’ve been waiting for this_.’

He takes a deep breath, bouncing on his heels, clenching his hands into fists and swallowing. Stranger, stranger, not who he  _wants_ – he peers for that shock of white hair and then he  _sees_ it, that tall form, broad shoulders– “Shiro!”

A grin spreads over Keith’s face and he pushes his way to the front, anxious joy bubbling up in his chest and bleeding into his veins, making his hands shake. Five months Shiro had been away, but now he’s  _here_ , and Keith’s stomach flips as those strong arms he’s missed are suddenly wrapping tight around him, secure and comforting.  _I’m here._

“Keith,” breathes Shiro, his voice breaking, his imbalanced suitcase toppling over– Keith clings onto him and grins hugely into his shoulder, both of them spinning slightly, uncaring of the eyes on them because in that moment, they’re alone.

Keith pulls away, cheeks hot and eyes huge, mouth stretched into a smile. “ _Shiro_ ,” he says, almost like he can’t believe it, his hands raising to press to Shiro’s cheeks. “God, you– I’ve missed you  _so_ much.”

“I know. I missed you too,” murmurs the older boy, lips pressing to Keith’s forehead and sighing heavily. “I’m sorry, the flight was delayed a little–”

“It’s fine, dummy, don’t apologize,” Keith interrupts, shifting slightly and swallowing. In a heartbeat he’s got his hands in Shiro’s collar and he’s pulling him down, needy and longing, their lips crashing together and making Keith stumble backward.

Shiro pulls away, adjusts, then goes in gentle. Keith sags into the touch but doesn’t relent his vice-like grip on Shiro’s shirt, eyes squeezing shut, his entire body feeling lighter than air.

Shiro is  _here_ , and god, things can feel right again. Keith won’t be spending nights alone anymore, nights where the bed felt cold and he felt alone, because now Shiro is back and Keith will be able to just roll over and tuck himself into his chest and let his worries ebb away.

They break apart– Keith huffs out a laugh as their foreheads press together, leaning into Shiro’s chest, loving the feeling of those strong, gentle hands running over his shoulders and back. “I love you so fucking much,” he whispers. Shiro holds him a little tighter and kisses his hair.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](http://hajiiwa.tumblr.com/)~ come say hi!


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